


with wild horses

by fated_addiction



Category: Korean Drama, Vampire Geomsa | Vampire Prosecutor
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fated_addiction/pseuds/fated_addiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yoo will give you a list of facts. This is not the story. (Post-series two.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	with wild horses

**Author's Note:**

> So can't talk about episode eleven. At all. As always though, I prefer wild speculation until I hear that there's going to be a series three, that Yoo Jung In is safe and sound, and that for the sake of even more wild speculation, there will be touching. A lot of touching. And more crazy mysteries and fights omg.

Here are the facts:

Yoo Jung In is not dead.

Dr. Jo is. Luna is. Ji Ae remains a child and Soon Bum has a crooked shooting arm.

Yoo leave the hospital on the third day. Dong Man buys her a calendar and lunch. They sit outside, straddling a bench. He circle dates. She squints in the sun.

In three months, they will find him.

This is not that story.

 

 

-

 

 

When he comes back, she does not sleep for a week.

This surprises her. Yoo is a good cop. Yoo has seen _things_. Yoo has a father who has never allowed her to be disillusioned by what the world is.

(She is seven months younger than Ji Ae when her first dead body stumbles into play; she knows that her father held the man that held the gun that pulled the tigger and somehow that is worse than actually pulling trigger. The dead bodies pile up after this. Variety is an unstoppable variable.)

She does not avoid him. She is not the avoiding type. She goes to the dinner that Soon Bum hosts and watches Dong Man and him drink. She checks her watch. She remembers to call the babysitter that is watching Ji Ae; it’s been three months of taking turns, after all.

He follows her outside the restaurant though. He waits as she finishes the call.

“You’re going home.”

“Yes.” She pockets her phone. “I’m tired.”

“I understand.”

Her mouth twitches. She sits. There’s a potted ledge. Flowers are sprouting. It might be summer or something too soon.

“Do you want me to say it?” she asks, but that’s not the question. Her hair tucks behind her ear. She fingers a few strands.

“Mmm.” He sits. It’s slow. His limbs stretch awkwardly. She blinks and sees him crumple to the ground. The smell of smoke invades her nose. The roof of her mouth feels sticky. Yoo blinks again. He touches her arm. “Ji Ae says that you have been taking her around a lot.”

“The zoo,” she answers.

“She likes it?”

Yoo shrugs. “She likes Dong Man and ice cream.”

Min almost smiles.

Maybe that is enough.

 

 

Her bedroom used to be on the left side of her apartment.

It was shaky. She could hear too much of the street. She moves it out of spite for not sleeping. She is still not sleeping.

And he does not follow her home.

He just comes.

“Ji Ae?” he asks at the door, and she fumbles with her keys. The ring swings around her fingers and sinks into her knuckles.

“Soon Bum,” she answers. Her mouth twitches. “There is a girlfriend,” she says too. “And there is a babysitter. You can decide what that means.”

He is quiet. She unlocks the door.

“You can see her tomorrow,” she adds.

She cannot believe in what the right thing to do is yet. She steps through the door. Her boots come off. The laces are twisted. He follows and lines his shoes up next to hers. They are too neat.

He follows her still though. She goes in and turns on the kitchen light. She turns on the television too. Then she goes back to the kitchen and looks for matches. She has a set of candles leaning nearby; her mother and her ideas.

“Are you staying?” she asks.

“It’s not like you,” he says absently. She turns and the matches are in hand. Her eyes follow the neat stretch of skin at his jaw. She tries and remembers a scar. Then there is none. His hands slide into his jacket. “Your place.”

Yoo puts the matches on the counter. She leans against the wall.

“I saw yours,” she says instead. “Lots of white walls.”

“For lighting,” he quips.

Yoo snorts and rolls her eyes.

“Your couch,” he says too. She looks over his shoulder. The throw is crumpled against an arm. Her sweater from the morning is dangling off the edge too.

“You have a place,” she says.

This isn’t much of an argument. There isn’t much of an argument. Yoo cannot decide if either or matters anyway.

“I was curious.”

“I don’t know what that means.” She closes her eyes and crosses her arms against her chest. Her head tilts back. “You’ll have to be specific.”

“I don’t know where I was.”

It drops. She stills and the news is an odd sort of patter in the background. She listens carefully for the traffic outside. She lives on a noisy street. She likes living on a noisy street, too central to the city, too easy to be nearly anonymous. There is some sense of accountability in that.

Yoo pushes herself away from the wall. She takes a step. She takes another. The matches are forgotten. She thinks _could I now_ as if it were to matter. But things have been mattering for a long time. Since she joined his team. Since her perception changed and her world became a little smaller, a little larger, and entirely too complex to be anything else outside of nonsense; it sounds safe in her head.

She still stops in front of him. She doesn’t touch him. Her gaze meets his. Her eyes are bright. His eyes just seem brighter. His mouth shifts into some sort of a smile, or something that makes her want to think it’s a smile. Yoo does not have any preconceived notion of romance though. She isn’t good at that. Or this. Or thinking she could hold onto answers.

“Are you really here?” she asks.

“You look tired.”

Yoo frowns.

Min reaches forward. She remembers: his hand against the back of her neck, sweeping under her hair, his fingers cool and slick against her hair, his mouth at her throat, trembling, pulsing, and breathing _forgive me_ as if it should have been worn as a mantra. She does not dream of this. He does not ask her if she does; she doesn’t think she could tell him beyond that.

He touches her cheek. “You ate nothing,” he says too.

“We weren’t eating,” she retorts.

His smile ghosts across his mouth. It’s all half-hearted.

Then, after, she says it: “Take my bed.”

 

 

The hospital has a particular smell.

Yoo convinced her mother not to tell her father. They moved candles into her bedroom and she could not bring herself to tell her mother that they kept her up and awake anyway. That is a story.

He takes her bed. She allows for privacy for all of twenty minutes, cracking open the door before she wraps a blanket around her shoulders and settles back into the couch. Her eyes feel like cracking. If it were Tuesday, Soon Bum would be calling some time between three and four. He would tell her about the aches. They would laugh. She would pause before remembering to ask him about any leads concerning Min and where he was.

The television stays low.

 

 

-

 

 

There is a second night.

There is a third night.

Five weeks in, he graduates from her bedroom to the couch. He boils water for tea. They never make it. 

There is an old movie instead.

Soon Bum hums about cases at breakfast.

 

 

A numberless night, she gives him half her blanket. Ji Ae has taken her bed. They are watching a World Cup match rerun and Min flexes his fingers against the tip of her ankle. 

She does not know how long he has been doing this. She does not know if that is important. She thinks about the pad of his thumb. It’s warm. The blanket is pulling at her neck and throat, but not enough to irritate it.

“She likes my bed,” she murmurs absently.

Min shifts. Two fingers press against the back of her heel.

“I like your bed.”

Yoo burts out into laughter. It’s loud. It’s surprised. She stares at him wide-eyed and then clasps her hand over her mouth. It’s minutes too late, but there is no rustling back, inside of her bedroom.

His hand does not move. (It was always steady, she thinks. It _was_ always steady, she confesses to Soon Bum and then he buys her two drinks to drink them. She does not get drunk well and he does not give company better. It always made sense.) She wonders if it should feel like a reassurance.

She drops her hand over his arm. “It’s a slow romance,” she says.

“Hmm.” His hand starts to shift. His fingers slip and slide over her ankle and her legs, crawling away from her foot. She feels them against her calf. Then she feels them against the back of her knee. “You need to sleep,” he says.

“I sleep,” she is not defensive.

He keeps his gaze to the television. “How long?”

“Do you want to have this conversation?”

There is a pause. She shifts and sits deeper into the couch. Her leg shifts and his hand hits the back of her thigh.

She bites the inside of her cheek. Then: “do you think it matters?”

“It matters to you,” he murmurs.

“Your obsessions have become our own,” she quotes, and wonders if it’s Soon Bum. She likes to imagine hearing Dr. Jo and his wistfulness. She tries and stops too.

“This is about trusting me.”

“I don’t know,” she admits.

He makes a soft sound. It curls somewhere between them. She bites her lip and reaches back to pull her hair back, returning to hold his gaze.

His free hand is at her cheek. She doesn’t know how.

His fingers wiggle. They catch at her jaw and she breathes. They move to her mouth and then she breathes again.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“You’re sorry a lot,” she murmurs. The tips of his fingers swallow the sound. She bites lightly at the skin too. She remembers: she has seen him walk away before, there is always fire and the smell cannot just go away. Yoo does not forget these things easily. She does not forget how to trust either.

Her fingers curl around his wrist. She tugs at his hand. She pulls it away from her mouth and almost smiles. Or nearly smiles. It tastes sort of strange.

“It is the right thing to say.”

She rolls her eyes. “You say that a lot too.”

There is a lot unsaid. She could argue that there is too much. They could both argue that there is too much. She cannot hear anything else as it is.

Yoo tugs at Min’s hand. Then he is leaning into her, bent at the waist. The blanket starts to droop; her shoulder first. She sees his mouth. Then his mouth is hovering over hers too.

“Will you go home?” she asks quietly.

His mouth grazes hers. “Does that matter?”

“Where to begin?” she asks too.

Min will not answer.

 

 

Soon Bum will ask.

He casts an arm around her shoulder. He smiles gently. She already knows he understands too well.

“You will let him in,” He says.

 

 

Instead there are a sequence of days that follow, under another mystery and more reinstatement; there are enemies and there are more enemies and she starts back into work and her shot gets sharper. She could talk about it. She could line each story and moment in the confines of her bedroom, her living room, and even the walk to Ji Ae’s school in the morning. Yoo could even repeat the following: She is not her father’s daughter. She will take the gun. She will pull her own trigger.

Ji Ae still rotates between all of them. They are a strange family. Min is not ready for a child. She thinks out of all of them, she is neither her nor there or ready to relinquish those fights and rights and middle ground. Min sometimes stays with her. Min stays more with Soon Bum. That is between them.

He will kiss her –

(and _really_ she will kiss him and she will kiss him with her teeth, she will kiss hard and angry and with fistfuls of his hair because that is what she understands; how to be loud and unchanging and right there, near always, without fail, in his face to be unwilling to disappear; he will bite at her and her ears will ring and she will remember all his apologies, one by one, and his sticky, smoky tasting fingers at the back of her neck and against her face)

\- and they will not move anywhere.

She will not let herself anyway.

 

 

-

 

 

Yoo Jung In will be the last to be interviewed.

Protocol, you see. It comes and goes.

She will sits quietly in the interrogation room. She will not ask for a lawyer. She will stare back at the former head of their unit and not hide her disdain. The woman will smile and she will think of her father planting the gun that pulled the trigger that started those lines of bodies. She will think _coward_.

They will ask her about Min.

She will tell a story about glass and smoke. She will smell it in that room.

This is the lesson.

Yoo Jung In is loyal. Without regret.


End file.
